


Blood Bank

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampire Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: He claimed to not only be a Quartermaster because his position within the MI6, but because he also had a very old contract with which he claimed a quarter of the blood of the agents he worked with directly – although, in reality, each agent donated the normal amount of blood that wouldn’t terribly drain them, but Q’s explanation for his title sounded cooler.Based on a beautiful little comic by the lovely azure7539.





	Blood Bank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azure7539](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/gifts).



> As mentioned in the summary body, this muse was brought to life by a beautiful little comic created by the lovely azure7539 and I do hope the end result will be pleasing.
> 
> Make sure to drop by this wonderful artist's tumblr and check out the gorgeous art.

Everyone loves a good, spooky myth. Japan and its ghost that can really hold a grudge, China and its malevolent strange ghosts that resulted from someone allowing themselves to be consumed by materialism, America and its ghost trapped in a bathroom mirror, Romania and it’s vampires, and England and its supposed MI13 that dealt with the supernatural happenings from their own country and maybe from all over the world if they were a threat to their private little ‘island’, but no one knew that almost all the myths were right.

 

Ghost, ghouls, vampires, and all sorts of other children of the night and nightmares are real, but MI13 isn’t. Well, to be fair, the agency had existed at one point, but then the Second World War happened and people focused on the monsters that everyone could see and then after that had passed, the new British government decided that hunters of myths that were so much more than that were just too expensive so they disbanded the whole agency for good.

 

However, they didn’t get rid of the _special_ agents they had. They simply repurposed them as if they were nothing more than spare parts of a common machine, with the vast majority going to MI5 while one of the most powerful creatures went to MI6 where it became one of the most important members of the agency's upper management.

 

The creature in question was a vampire, one that claimed to be so old that he had forgotten how his real name was supposed to be pronounced and happily took on his position’s designated letter as his name – Q. No one really dared to point out that he tended to behave and talk like a lord from the Victorian era or that they’ve caught glimpses of a child version of him in Victorian paintings because, although he was mostly smiles, soft cardigans, and cups of tea like any decent British person, he was terrifying when he got angry.

 

His lips thinned to show off his sharp fangs, his fingernails turned to claws, and while his eyes tended to glow red when he was hungry or feeding, they turned completely red in anger, making him look more like a demon than any other sort of creature. His normally soft voice and pleasantly posh accent got replaced with a low growl that tended to echo and the temperature in the room he was in dropped considerably, people seeing their own breath while their drinks got a thin layer of ice on the top if Q was angry enough.

 

Thankfully, that rarely happened and Q resorted to bad puns when scolding someone, holding himself in a way that made everyone feel like they had disappointed their loving grandfather and made them want to better themselves as Q loved to pat their heads and give them either expensive sweets or very old bottles of alcohol that he just happened to have lying around on top of better equipment for their next mission.

 

Q was a strange vampire, to say the least – although a vampire was strange by default. He loved to bathe in the sun despite remaining as pale as ever, was always seen nibbling on actual food, wore glasses because his eyes had been bad before undying, preferred comfortable and colourful clothes over fancy ones outside of Halloween parties – during which he eagerly embraced the vampire cliché and dressed like Dracula – and not only loved technology, but also exceeded in it.

 

But just because the wolf preferred to wear sheep’s clothing, it didn’t mean that he could live by grazing as one. He still needed to drink blood to sustain himself and, keeping in tune with his love for puns, claimed to not only be a Quartermaster because of his position within the MI6, but because he also had a very old contract with which he claimed a quarter of the blood of the agents he worked with directly – although, in reality, each agent donated the normal amount of blood that wouldn’t terribly drain them, but Q’s explanation for his title sounded cooler.

 

He didn’t drink directly from his agents and he was never in the same room as them when their blood was being taken, explaining that he didn’t want to make them feel like nothing more than chewed up pencils and while most of them were fine with that, there was that one agent that had a hard time accepting that.

 

The agent in question went by the name of Bond, James Bond, and he was an absolute pain in the agency’s ass despite being a… No, no one could even think of Bond as a good agent despite his track record of completed missions, mostly because he always had to lose all of his equipment, blow up at least a car, drew more attention that a spy should at the worst possible time, and managed to get hurt even when he was on vacation.

 

Naturally, he was Q’s number one priority and the man made sure to spend as much of his time off as he could around him, poking and probing, asking questions he shouldn’t and pestering a creature that could end him in less of a second without really trying.

 

“This cardigan really brings out the parlour of your skin,” was his first line Bond – age 24 – had ever used on him.

 

Q snorted because he was used with stuff like ‘please don’t eat me’ or ‘I’m not high enough to believe a stick like you is not only a vampire, but also my Quartermaster’, so the lame line was welcomed. “And the state of your suit accentuates your lack of experience,” he shot back and made sure to flash him his fangs when he grinned. “I’d advise you to work on your words and your clothes if you want to get some of those _special_ missions every low tier agent dreams of.”

 

That was the only time Bond ever listened to advice and everybody sort of regretted it because he managed to seduce without really trying and that landed him in even more hot water than he originally was in, all the while still continuing to hit on his vampiric Quartermaster and to give him more attention than a simple agent should.

 

He’d interrupt the scolding by presenting Q with whatever little gift he had managed to sneak by their security, acting like he was in a lot of pain despite either only having a few scratches here and there or being so high on morphine that he had a hard time forming actual words when Q attempted to turn down the gift, and always offered to reenact how he had managed to land whatever iceberg he found provided Q played the role of that mountain of ice.

 

That didn’t go unnoticed by the head of MI6, but no matter how many talks she had with Bond and how many times she forced him to attend special meetings with people that just so happened to be psychiatrists, Bond was not deterred from his apparent goal to bed the only vampire he knew.

 

Scarier still was the fact that Q seemed actually flattered by all the attention he was receiving from the man and although Bond had not been the first agent to put the moves on him, he was the first that didn't get on his nerves. “This doesn’t make us square,” he’d always say, carefully tapping the box that he was presented with right before turning away from the agent before he could offer to take it back. “I mean you did lose very expensive equipment and got distracted by—”

 

“You’re the only one who could truly distract me,” Bond quickly corrected him, both unaware of how everyone around them had turned their attention to them and froze in time, curious to see if the agent would actually win this time. “But yes, I did cost MI6 quite a lot of money this time as well, not to mention that I outright wasted all the time you spent putting my equipment together, so why don’t I take you out for a bite as the start of my apology?”

 

It was always the same defeated acknowledgement of his mistakes and it was always the same offer, the people groaning in disappointment while Q chuckled through his refusal. “Try harder next time, Bond. Despite your seniority not only with us, but as one of the agents I work with directly, I have yet to taste your blood.”

 

“I offer to be your meal after every mission, but you turn me down,” Bond shouted after Q, easily dodging whoever was trying to shut him up. “I can even be your breakfast, if you want.”

 

That worrisome titbit aside, Bond had become such a master at enticing that all he had to do was wink and the bored wife or husband of whatever target he had, followed him to whatever dingy corner he gestured in, bringing attempted murders with them. No one really liked that, but that was the agent’s modus operandi and since it did yield results, no proper actions were taken.

 

And then Bond had to go and get wounded so bad that he was returned to them in a coma and Q wasted no time in presenting himself to M with a very short list of demands. “Demote him this instant.”

 

“I was actually thinking of retiring him for medical reasons,” the woman said without looking up from her tea pouring. “And the sudden cold temperature in the room tells me that you’re very displeased with that idea, so please take a seat and let’s discuss this.”

 

Q pulled a face, nevertheless folding himself in the chair before M and gently plucking the china tea cup from the little plate, pinkie in the air. “I do not think he’s hurt enough for that and you do know how much trouble he can cause if he gets bored. However, if we keep him around for, say, training other agents…” He trailed off and cringed, no doubt imagining just what a huge headache would be if he had to babysit an army of Bonds. “Put him back in training.”

 

“You know very well that I cannot do that unless if I have cause for that or unless he fails his tests once he wakes up,” M pointed out, carefully observing Q’s reactions. “If he is such a hassle to you, you can create a boffin team for him and let them—”

 

“No,” Q said quickly, wrinkling his nose. “I would hate to dump Bond on others and I really don’t feel that anyone is equipped for handling him. I did think about giving him a good scare, but we’ve know each other for such a long time that he’d know something was up and it wouldn’t work.”

 

M really thought that there was more to that since, in the past, Q had no issues with either putting stubborn agents in their place by reminding them just exactly what he was or by assigning so many people to watch their every move while on a mission that they came back crawling to him, swearing on their lives that they would never do whatever they did that got him annoyed in the first place, but he was obviously holding back when it came to 007. Not to mention the fact that M knew for a fact that Q had refused all the blood Bond had provided for him, even though it was his favourite blood type and it being clean.

 

“I might be able to do so something if you’re willing to testify that he’s no longer fit for field duty,” M said slowly, Q looking more than sour at that prospect. “Or you could give him an ultimatum and see if he improves?”

 

It was strange to give someone who had quite a few decades over you such simple advice, but truth be told, M never saw Q really interact with someone outside of missions or forced MI6 parties. Even during meetings, people avoided looking at him for fear that he might put them on a list that didn’t exist and he only spoke up when it was related to resources needed to get missions done, money required to finish his many prototypes, or explaining to whatever newcomer that couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to a pre-meeting debriefing why he needed blood.

 

“An ultimatum it is,” Q conceded after a few seconds, hesitating to pick up his phone. “I do apologize for doing this; I know it’s terribly uncouth of me and I assure you that my ancestors are rolling in their graves, but would you permit me to check something online?”

 

Amused, M shook her head and she didn’t really need to check the camera behind Q to know that he was Googling how to give an ultimatum without giving someone a heart attack or trauma. And that innocence, she thought to herself as she continued to slowly sip her cup of tea, was probably why so many found him so endearing – well, that and the fact that he was a good looking vampire and she knew that everyone in the agency had at least one vampire porn book, although none dared to openly read a certain one after Q had glared at a copy until it caught fire.

 

Q intently read for ten minutes before excusing himself, either inspiration or understanding striking him so hard that he actually forgot not to _glide_ in the hallways which caused quite a lot of people to scream and invoke the name of God – M heard him quietly inform a few that religion didn’t work on him as he was an atheist, so she assumed that they were probably shoving their crosses in his face.

 

Now normally – if anything could be considered that in their agency – M would have had Eve take down the names of everyone involved in the incident and then inviting them nicely to a special class which Q would have presided over, but as the security cameras clearly shoved that he was making a beeline for Medical, she held back as he obviously had more pressing matters.

 

Pressing matters that he got to mull over for a quite a few days, giving him more than enough time to reflect over the reasons for why he had reached this point – because he was done turning his tea into an Earl Grey flavoured ice cream every bloody time the echo of a gunshot was followed by nothing but static on the coms – assess his own feelings – and decide to tell them to go straight to hell because doing that was complete bull and it was better if he didn’t acknowledge them – and to make a realistic assessment of his chances of success with getting through to him – which were close to zero if normal incentives were used, but if he gave in one of his basic needs and threw himself on the table after every time Bond returned as intact as it was humanly possible and with at least one piece of equipment, he might be able to condition him.

 

There was also something an appropriate moment in which the person that was being presented with the ultimatum had their full attention on him and were not under the influence of any drugs but, as amusing as it was for an immortal being that was pretty much waiting for the end of the world to come so that he might truly rest, Q did not have the patience required for doing this.

 

Which is why he practiced his speech on the passed out Bond for three days straight, almost breaking the wounded man’s arm on the fourth day because he was surprised by the sudden warmness that had wrapped itself around the one he was resting on the bed while checking in on how 009 was doing on his first mission with the special team he had created just for him.

 

“I could get used with you being the first thing I see when I wake up,” James said in a cracked voice, purring when Q easily helped him sit up while a few nurses and doctors entered the room to remove whatever tubes were no longer needed, draw some blood for tests, and give him a glass of water.

 

“Everybody out,” Q ordered when Bond and the nurses started to exchange smiles, making the room go cold just to be sure that no one would be dumb enough to argue with him.

 

“Q, I can’t help the flirting—”

 

“But you will learn to do so from now on when you’re in the field unless it is truly required of you,” Q said emotionlessly, taking his glasses off. “I, well _we_ would be the correct pronoun to use in this situation as all the accountants are probably dyeing their hair because of you and M seems to gain at least 10 more wrinkles every time you're brought up,” he started to go on a tangent, Bond as usually sitting back and seeming mesmerized by the sound of his voice. “As I was saying, I feel as if you’ve been given much too much freedom in the field and it’s not only affecting you, but everyone around you.”

 

He broke eye contact with James in favour of checking his computer screen, unconsciously squeezing the other’s hand. “You’ve got shot at 589 times since the beginning of this year, which is quite an amazing feat given the fact that we’re on January 11th and—”

 

“I get it,” Bond quietly interrupted him, tugging him closer. “I’ll stop acting so carelessly if you cease giving me blue balls this instant.”

 

Great, perverted minds think alike, although Q had to admit that he was a bit disappointed with how right he had been in picking sex as a bribe. “I’m afraid that we cannot have intercourse right now—”

 

He was interrupted once again by Bond’s finger on his lips. “I didn’t mean sex, Q. A certain vampire that shall not be named has made the temperature in here so low that it’s probably close to zero and I’m afraid they have forgotten to provide me with pants under these thin sheets and hospital gown.”

 

Vampires, Q had explained one night, couldn’t blush when they weren’t properly fed because they needed warm, flowing blood in their veins to accomplish that and, before he could ask, yes, the same applied to a certain other bodily function. Still, if Q could blush, Bond liked to imagine that he would have looked just like a radish right now.

 

“Right, I apologize about that. Even after such a long time, I tend to lose control over the temperature when tiredness gets combined with even just a bit of anxiety.” He closed his laptop and hopped off the chair, furrowing his brows and tilting his head in confusion at Bond still holding on to his hand.

 

“I know you claim that you don’t need any sleep, but go straight home. And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, have a few packs of blood because as chiselled as I think your cheeks are, marble white does not become you.” Bond brushed  his lips against Q’s knuckles before releasing him, managing to flash him his backside before he left the room.

 

***

007’s latest hospitalization brought after it a period of peace. Well, as much calmness as there could be in MI6 when the aforementioned agent haunting the agency’s hall because he was bored out of his mind and not quite feeling the fit despite Medical giving him the green-light for returning to active duty a month ago.

 

“Bond, don’t you dare touch that!” Q shouted because of course Bond chose to especially haunt his branch over all the others, toying with things he should be and proving that no matter what he was doing, Q’s inventions had to suffer. “That’s for 009 to toy with and I’ve just finished calibrating it.”

 

Naturally, as Bond had gotten sick of hearing that designated number in the past month, he got a bit carelessly in putting the precious pen back in its stand, dropping it and causing it to explode.

 

“Bloody hell, Bond,” Q grumbled in his ear, the man realizing that he was pushed up the wall not because of how strong the explosion had been – although, there was a small hole where the pen’s stand had been and the desk to the right was on fire – but because his Quartermaster had moved fast enough to get him out of the blast zone before he got affected. “Is there a nice young nurse that plagues your thoughts?”

 

Wrapping his arms around Q’s back, James tilted his head back, his nose brushing against the vampire’s neck for a second as he did that, making his smile grow. “I had no idea you had taken an extra job with us, Q,” he purred, breath knocked out of him as he suddenly found himself resting on Q’s sofa, fire already put out and all the rubble neatly collected in five trashcans.

 

“Really, James… Their uniforms are much too rough for my skin,” Q joked, patting a small cooler that was resting on his shoulder. “Now, be a good little agent and keep out of trouble while I go eat.”

 

As was custom, Q retreated to his secret room to have his meal and as the new tradition dictated, James tried to be right on his tail because, although he was resting, he was still a spy that had to know at least everything that was happening right under his nose and especially because he had found out that Q had yet to taste his blood.

 

Good thing that Q sort of liked to take his time enjoying his little bag of blood and that James hadn’t been just a plague on the poor vampire, but also a sort of detective who dutifully crossed out every room in the entirety of MI6 until he was down to only two and since he had thought ahead, he had put little traps in front of them, hoping to trip the Q long enough to reveal himself to the cameras long enough for him to see.

 

And that is exactly what happened, Q actually lying on the ground a few seconds as he probably pondered which trickster had caused him the latest inconvenience before disappearing from the cameras once again.

 

While James was tripping over his own feet and other boffins since the vampire took roughly about ten minutes to finish his meal, Q had ditched his glasses – and thus, his very flimsy armour against the world around him – and was slouching over the dusty table in the old archive room, allowing himself a moment to reminisce about old times and forget all of his worries as he lazily sucked on the might as well be a bloody popsicle.

 

“Are you sure just that small bag is enough?” James asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere on top of the desk, tie loosened, jacket nowhere in sight. “Your real blood bank is here.”

 

Q smirked, pleased that the man had yet to run away at the sight of his red eyes and sharp fangs. “You keep playing with fire, James,” he warned, forcing himself to look away from the man’s neck. “Two bags out to do the trick, so no blood bank is needed.”

 

James caught Q’s hand and turned him around a bit so he could look him in the eyes. “They are as beautiful as rubies as they when they are emeralds and I would love nothing more than to risk to cut my tongue when we kiss.”

 

“James—”

 

“I imagine you’d suck on it, slowly and carefully, cupping my face to better position me as you’d quench your thirst on your favourite blood type which just so happens to be same as what runs through my veins,” he continued, undeterred. “So what do you say, my alabaster Quartermaster? Turn me into your private little blood bank? I promise not to let down.”

 

Q’s eyes had widened, the smell of blood from the pack not making things any easier, but he was stronger than this. “No,” he said simply and pushed the desk with James still on top of it across the room. “I’ve made it my own personal rule to never drink from someone.”

 

“Not even if you maybe considered making that person your lover?”

 

The windows cracked from how cold it suddenly got and Q’s growl echoed throughout London. “Especially if that’s the case.” He took an unneeded deep breath and unclenched his fists, his talons reverting back to simple fingernails and his deep cuts healing instantly. “Oh, great; now they really are bloody ice creams.”

 

He was startled to find that not only James was still in the room, but that he had also moved closer to him. “I completely trust you, so why?”

 

“You’re infuriatingly persistent and that’s going to get you killed one of these days,” Q growled, sighing as he slumped back down in the chair. “I watched someone I loved get drained by someone I trusted because young vampires can’t control themselves when they are within an inch of death and they taste blood.”

 

“But despite your spots, you’re as old as the world,” James tried to lighten things up, kneeling before him and tapping his forehead. “And I’d die before you were close to death, so no need to worry about you feeding on me while in such a condition, not that I’d hesitate a single second if I needed to give up my life in order to save yours.” He tilted his head back a little, but did not force Q’s face against it. “I cannot underline enough how much I trust you, Q, so grow a pair and trust yourself.”

 

“I haven’t done this in a very long while,” Q whispered after a few very long minutes of tense silence, licking his lips as he drew his finger down James’ jugular. “Things like this can’t be fixed with a simple talk, no matter how tempting you feel or smell.”

 

He switched their positions in a blink of an eye, arching his eyebrow at James’ huge grin as his hand made itself at home on his hip. “Just making sure you won’t fall while you get acquainted with my neck, but I’ll move it higher if it isn’t welcomed.”

 

“If it wasn’t welcomed, you wouldn’t have had it anymore.” He pushed his lips against James neck for a moment. “Move it where you please.”

 

James smirked, slipping his hand under Q’s shirt and moving it around his middle. “Same with your lips.”

 

Q hummed, his cold breath making James shiver. “Maybe I’ll give you a hickey; mark you so the others keep away.” His words were followed by a small prickly sensation in James’ neck, prompting him to hold on tighter to him as he let out a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a moan.

 

Yes, James thought as ecstasy filled him, Q getting warmer by the second in his arms. Yes, he thought again, eyes glazing in pleasure. Yes, he had to make sure that Q only tasted his blood like this.


End file.
